This Feeling I've Grown to Love
by TropeOverdosed
Summary: Everything used to have a place, with him right up at the top like he should be. But post-transformation, Kuzco's not so sure where he belongs in his once-perfect world.
1. Prologue: Just Like You

_Hello! Just a few disclaimers and sidenotes before we get to the good stuff._

 _1) This fic does not account for any events from Kronk's New Groove or the spin—off television series, The Emperor's New School. Everything aside from headcanons are pulled from the original feature film._

 _2) Not a lot of action in this fic, if that's your cup of tea. It focuses more on character dynamics and development. My apologies if that's not what you're into!_

 _3) Annnd the usual. I do not own the characters, I do not own the Disney franchise._

 _Also, my writing may be a bit rusty—it's been a while since I've typed up anything that hasn't been an essay on comparing and contrasting rhetorical devices in classical literature. Thanks for reading nevertheless! I think we're good now, here we go :)_

* * *

Long ago, somewhere deep in the jungle...

...there was nothing much to look at. A squirrel, maybe. A chimp. A few bugs. This particular story takes place in a palace, and it begins with a young boy by the name of Yaku.

Yaku was sitting in his royal bedroom, fiercely clutching his pillow, trying to regain composure. Today had been a particularly humiliating day for him.

He needed someone, something, to blame. He whipped his head around to glare at the crown on his nightstand, as if it was the royal headdress's fault that he broke down crying in front of the royal council, in front of his future subjects, in front of Killa, his most favorite person in the whole wide world.

...Well, technically, it was the crown's fault.

He clutched the pillow tighter, but it didn't give him any sense of comfort whatsoever. After a moment of hesitation, he checked to see if anyone had entered his room without him noticing. The coast seemed clear, so he quickly discarded his pillow and grabbed his stuffed manatee, Peppy, out from under his bed. He buried his face into the soft gray animal. He might have looked stupid. He might have looked childish. Everything an emperor shouldn't be. But he didn't care. The faded grey fabric smelled faintly of mint and chilies, just the right balance to calm him yet keep him awake. More importantly, he could hold onto it. It was tangible, it was there.

Yaku sat there on his bed, his face smothered in stuffed manatee until he heard the unmistakable creak of his bedroom door opening. He looked up and saw the tall, graceful figure of Killa enter his room, still clad in the green robes she had worn that morning, worry lines etched around her dark brown eyes.

"Hey, Yaku, you oka—oh," she said, glancing down at the pathetic sight of the young boy and his manatee. She bit her lip. "Okay, if you need to have Peppy out, then I know something's wrong."

"Shut up," squeaked Yaku.

Killa raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me? That is no way to talk to your advisor—to—be."

"Ugh, don't remind me."

Killa made her way toward Yaku's bed and took a seat, putting a hand around his shoulder. They sat in a comfortable silence as the woman decided how to figure out what Yaku's problem was. Killa was always good at that.

"Do you...want to be emperor?" she started off.

"Well—yes! Of course, but—I mean no! I—I mean—I don't know—! Rrrghhh!" Yaku buried his face into Peppy once again.

The two of them sat together in silence while Yaku recalled what had happened. His coronation was in two days, and as expected, the royal staff was causing quite a commotion in the palace. There were so many things to do. The little boy had never been so busy in his entire eleven years of life. His whole life, his whole sense of security...it had all come down with a crash when his parents had been proclaimed dead.

They just had to decide to get themselves drowned by attacking some enemies overseas. Sure, they might have saved the whole empire, but it had cost them their lives. Now Yaku was the one with the crown, and that in itself wasn't that bad...in fact, Yaku had always wanted to be emperor.

Just...not like this. Not in this way.

He thought his parents would be there, with him, while he received the crown that was rightfully his, but now that would never happen. Yaku was scared. Confused. Frustrated. But most of all, he was angry. Jealous. Angry that mom and dad had to leave him like this. Jealous that everyone else—the royal record keeper, the emperor's advisor, even the maids and butler—because they all knew where they belonged. They all knew what they did why they did what they did. They all had—Yaku did his best to ignore the pressure building up behind his eyes as he thought this—they all had family.

He didn't know his parents much anyways though, why did he want a family all of a sudden? Stupid parents had never paid attention to him anyways...

And so at the council meeting that took place earlier that day, Yaku's emotions got the best of him. It had all been one big, embarrassing string of events. The head of the council was announcing the duties of being emperor when Yaku decided to have an emotional breakdown, abruptly bursting into tears in front of the entirety of the council.

The small boy and the tall woman both sat on the end in silence until Yaku got out of his manatee decided to speak up. He just needed to get some of the pain he was feeling out of him, and what better choice than Killa, the woman who practically raised him?

"I...I guess it just—the coronation, well...it just makes everything seem so real."

Killa stared at him, digesting the information he just gave her. "Real. You mean..." she looked down at the floor. "Emperor Kanan and Empress Tulpa...?"

Yaku could feel his eyes sting. He didn't respond.

Killa opened her mouth to say something, but Yaku cut her short, as all of the feelings bubbling inside of him— his anger, his confusion, his sorrow— took over his little body.

"Why did they have to leave me here?! Why did they have to go on some stupid sea trip and drown?! And now I don't have a family and I don't belong anywhere and the coronation's in two days and I have to rule the entire empire and I'm only eleven!" he cried, heaving his chest. "I can't do this!" He clutched Peppy the manatee so hard he was afraid he might make the toy's seams pop.

Silence once more.

"It's all their fault," he muttered bitterly to no one in particular.

Killa sighed. "Yaku. Don't say that. They were good people. Great leaders. And...Yaku, I know you're feeling upset, but don't say things like that, okay? You do have a family. You do belong."

"What are you talking about?! I never even knew my parents! They were always too busy. The empire always came first," he said. He didn't even care if he sounded selfish. Perhaps the villagers and townspeople he spied on through the palace windows didn't have gold and servants and the extravagant lap of luxury, but they had something the prince didn't have. He was merely eleven and had much more to learn; but he was wise enough to know that the smile shared by a mother and son as they held hands and spoke of the dinner they'd make while shopping at the marketplace was something that could not be bought.

"And that's their loss," Killa said softly, "to not take part in raising someone as wonderful as you."

Soft, warm hands grasped Yaku's shoulders as he pondered. Perhaps Killa didn't give birth to him, but she may as well have. In a palace full of aloof servants who saw him godlike, she was the only one who nurtured him (and reprimanded him. And argued with him).

"Thanks," Yaku finally muttered. "But it won't change the fact that I'll be a terrible emperor."

Killa scoffed. "Yaku, you are not going to be a terrible emperor. And just because you're not your parents doesn't mean that you aren't a good person. I know that you can be a great leader. You have it in you," she said, poking him in the stomach.

Yaku giggled, arms covering his stomach to prevent a second attack. "I...I guess," he said, finally smiling a little. Then he looked down at Peppy the manatee and frowned once more. "I'm being really immature, though. Emperors don't need stuffed animals!"

"Really?" mused Killa. "Because I have a story to tell you, and it has to do with your great—great—great—great grandfather."

"Well, what does that have to do with anything?"

She grinned. "I know for a fact that he loved his Wompy."

"Woah, what?" Yaku got up and stared at her in disbelief. "He had a stuffed animal?"

"Hm...well, I'm not so sure as to whether it was a animal, exactly. I think it was more of a doll. Its name was Wompy."

Yaku snickered. "Wompy? What kind of name is that?"

"Oh, like Peppy is a normal name."

"Oh, whatever," the young boy said, shrugging. "But...wow. Wompy." Yaku pondered in silence for a minute. "Wait...great—great—great—great grandfather..? I know this—hold on! You taught me about my family tree a week ago! Great—great—great—great...hey! Wasn't that the one who turned into a llama?"

Killa smiled and nodded, her curly locks of dark hair bobbing up and down as she did so. "Yep. Emperor Kuzco."

"Oh." Yaku's shoulders slumped in disappointment as he recognized the name. "So that's your story? The llama one? You already told me about Kuzco!" he said.

"Not everything about him, though."

"But I know the whole story! He was a brat, his advisor turned him into a llama, he teamed up with a peasant—your great—great—something—something grandfather, right? And then he changed back and he was a good guy after that. What else is there to know?"

"A lot more, actually," Killa replied. "Because believe it or not, Emperor Kuzco was a lot like you."

Yaku considered this for a moment. "...A lot like me—hey wait! Are you calling me a brat?" Yaku puffed his tiny chest out indignantly.

Killa giggled. "No, silly. You see, Kuzco's parents—his 'real' parents, as you put it—" she said, quoting the air, "...Well, he didn't really know them either. In fact, he took the throne at eight!"

Yaku's eyes widened. "Eight?!"

Killa nodded. "Yep. And after the whole llama incident that happened ten years afterwards, Kuzco wasn't really sure about his family and where he belonged and who he was. So you see? Kuzco was like you...although he didn't have that great of an advisor. That woman practically raised him," she said, frowning. "You think he would've turned out better, huh?"

"Mmm." Yaku looked around his bedroom, suddenly very aware that it was the same one that his ancestor used about a hundred years ago. It was hard to believe that he, scared little emperor-to-be Yaku, had descended from the great, confident Kuzco. According to the royal records, Kuzco was a generous monarch, always sure of himself (Yaku even managed to get a glimpse at one of the poems written about him back when he was alive— something about how he was "the sovereign lord of the nation" and the "hippest cat in creation." Personally, Yaku thought that would work better as a theme song than a poem. Weird). All of the stories about Emperor Kuzco made him seem like a hero. A leader. Well, except for the llama story. But even then, the story had a happy ending. The summer home had been built without destroying the village on the hill, the evil advisor got turned into a cat, the emperor was a nice guy now, and they all lived happily ever after. A perfect world. Perhaps he was a bit eccentric and oddly compatible with the peasants, but it was understandable considering how his life was saved by one in the first place. How in the world could Kuzco, of all people, be like Yaku? He wondered just what story Killa wanted to tell him. He looked up at her anxiously.

"So...you gonna tell me the story or what?"

"Stories, actually. Sit tight, this is gonna take a while,"she said, as Yaku proceeded to wrap himself in his blanket and get settled. Killa cleared her throat. "Alright," she said, glancing to the side. "Enough of boring you with exposition. You ready to hear about Kuzco?"

"Uh-huh!" Yaku leaned in a bit, ready to listen.

"Okay," Killa said. "It all started up in the village on the hill..."

* * *

 _I've decided to post Chapter 1 alongside the prologue, as OCs are usually appealing only to a certain extent, especially when they're the ones who start a fic off. Plus, creating child characters can be quite difficult—it's hard getting that right balance between whiny and overly edgy and precocious. I'm not quite sure what little Yaku would measure on that scale. So I'm posting a double-feature now, but from now on it'll just be one chapter at a time. Thanks for reading! :)_


	2. That Tuneless Little Hilltop

The Emperor was dead.

That's what everyone had thought. And why wouldn't they? The guy had his own funeral and eulogy and everything! That being said, it had been rather awkward convincing the empire that their ruler had returned— their true ruler, that is. Not the old wrinkled hag that was scary beyond all reason.

The Emperor's return was clumsy. Rushed. Not at all the graceful, confident entrance he had expected it to be. However, the memory was seared into his brain, whether he liked it or not.

Moments after his human transformation, his Majesty, followed by his homely-looking peasant friend, had hastily made their way down from the massive, gilded face of the emperor's palace. Key word: hastily, not carefully. It wasn't a particularly pleasant journey. The emperor received enough tiny scratches to last a lifetime on the way. He wasn't sure about the peasant, though. If he was hurt, he sure wasn't showing it. The only expression on the older man's face was determination—and occasionally concern, which occurred whenever his smaller friend exclaimed in pain during the way down.

And the cat? What became of the cat? The emperor wanted to push the wretched thing off the palace and let it fall to its death, but after some gentle admonition from the peasant about how he wouldn't be better than his assassin if he did so, he sighed and gave in. In the end, they gave the unconscious feline to her former assistant, Kronk, and set off.

Once they both reached solid ground, they hurried toward the front doors of the palace, which was mysteriously devoid of guards. And so the doors burst open, the strange duo of a young, scrawny monarch and an older, hefty peasant quickly making their way to the royal council room.

That was when the explanation started. The peasant ran in on the council, followed by the emperor, who was panting quite heavily. He had actually held up quite well so far, considering the boy had pretty much never lifted a finger in his entire life before the llama incident. But never before had the young ruler ever experienced so much physical activity in so little time. After his breath began to steady, he looked up at the bewildered council, all of whom were deeply in engrossed in his peasant friend's story of how the emperor was indeed alive.

"...and now he's human, and he's ready to rule the empire again," he heard the peasant say. He looked expectantly at the young emperor, everyone in the council following his lead. Were they expecting him to say something? What was he supposed to say? Uh, yeah?

"Uh—yeah," he said, and then proceeded to mentally kick himself. He was their emperor! He was a god! So why was his confidence, his cool demeanor that he had prized for so long, dwindling by the minute?

Probably because he never imagined that a situation like this would ever happen. After all, who would? A few months ago, if anyone had told him that he would be turned into a llama by his secretly evil advisor and forced to team up with a simple peasant to regain the throne, he would have had them imprisoned, or perhaps thrown out a window, for their blatant lies. And yet here he was, standing in front of his council, probably looking like a compete idiot.

He suddenly became very self—conscious about his appearance. His arms and legs were riddled with tiny scratches from the journey down the palace, his hair was most likely a mess, and he was wearing nothing but a oversized green poncho that the peasant had given him after he had turned human. His robes, his crown, his flashy jade earrings—they had all been taken from him after he was knocked unconscious and crudely stuffed into a bag, llama form. All of the symbols that defined him as royalty were gone. Hell, even his spoiled attitude that had defined him as him was gone! Why did that stupid peasant have to come into the picture and change up everything (hmm, maybe he did retain a bit of his former self)?

But then again, he'd probably be long dead if the peasant wasn't in the picture.

The rest of that day was a blur. All he could remember was that his former advisor lost her shortly-lived right to rule, he got it back, and the entirety of the palace now knew that the emperor wasn't dead. The contrary, actually.

Emperor Kuzco was very much alive.

He lay on his back, floating on top of cool water, eyes closed, body facing the starry sky above him as he replayed the events that had happened in his life so far after his adventure as a llama, which wasn't much.

It had barely been a month since the whole fiasco, and not even a week since he'd built his summer home. And now here he was, floating atop his summer pool, complete with a built in waterslide. Oh, yeah. But still...something bothered him. It was something insignificant, but it nagged him in the back of his mind, demanding for attention to be brought upon it.

Back when he and Pacha had entered the palace to claim that Kuzco was alive...why weren't there any guards at the front doors? Was Yzma so careless that she thought she didn't need any guards?

...Wait. It suddenly dawned on Kuzco. The guards were probably part of the party of guards that Yzma had ordered to kill llama Kuzco. And what had happened to those guards? They fell to their deaths while Yzma did nothing but growl in frustration.

Kuzco shivered a bit at the thought. Yzma was so heartless, so merciless, that she'd carelessly sacrifice human lives to get what she wanted. Gods, who would even do that?

 _Me,_ Kuzco realized with a start.

He didn't care that he'd be destroying a whole village to build Kuzcotopia. He didn't care that he might have left people homeless in the process.

Pawns. Maybe he wasn't killing them outright, but he may as well have. Was he really no better than Yzma? No wonder Pacha hated him at first.

Kuzco glared up at the stars. Ugh, a pity party was the last thing he needed. It just wasn't him. Not groovy. And yet that was what his mind had spent most of its time doing in the past month. The rest of his alone time wasn't any better either. When he wasn't wallowing in self—pity, all he could think about was—

"Kuzco?" a large figure loomed over him, curiously glancing down at the emperor.

Him.

Pacha.

The young boy was startled, and so he ended up sinking into the water, thrashing around and cursing for a few fleeting seconds, and then thrusting himself out and landing right next to the peasant in order to glare at him.

"Don't do that!" he snapped, yanking his towel from a nearby branch and encasing his soaking wet body and swim trunks in it.

"Do what?" the peasant demanded, staring at him. "What are you even doing out here, anyways?"

"Oh, uh. I was...reflecting." Kuzco glanced down at the water and realized what he had just said. "No pun intended," he added hastily after a few seconds.

Pacha cracked a smile. "Mm—hmm." He sat down in the grass near the water, motioning for the young emperor to sit down with him. Kuzco obliged.

"And may I ask just what you were reflecting on?"

Kuzco suddenly became very interested in looking at his feet.

"Just...stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

He made a pointed effort to stare intently at his toes, trying to sound casual and failing miserably at doing so.

"It's nothing, alright?"

"Kuzco, there's something bothering you, I can tell—"

"Nope, not telling—"

"Kuzco—"

"Lalalalala, not listening—!"

"Kuzco!"

"Ugh, alright...!" Kuzco mumbled, his face beginning to burn. Gods, why did Pacha always have to ask him about every little detail? His servants back at the palace had never done that. They would just ask him what he wanted, do his request, and leave him be. They were complying, unquestioning, unbothered. Pacha was the complete opposite. Stubborn, nosy...concerned.

And as much as Kuzco didn't want to admit it, he felt kind of touched by that. Pacha wasn't just another one of his servants, treating him as a god of sorts that required his every little need to be fed instantaneously. No, Pacha treated Kuzco like a human. He didn't like him (or pretend to) just because he was emperor. They fought, they yelled. But it was because he mattered to him. Kuzco liked that. It was something the boy had never experienced before. Maybe it came as a package with the whole friend gig. How was he to know? He'd never had a friend until now...

 _Annnd there comes the self—pity again, he thought, gritting his teeth._

"Kuzco...if there's anything going on, don't be a stranger, alright? You can tell me," Pacha said, snapping Kuzco out of his thoughts. "After all," he added, jovially slapping him on the back, "That's what friends do."

Kuzco made a big show of rubbing his back. There it was, that word again. Friends. It had never mattered to him until that peasant came marching into his life and changed it, for better or for worse.

"...Uh—huh. Right," Kuzco said. "So, basically, I was thinking."

"I think we've already established that."

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Oh, nothing," Pacha said quickly, glancing sideways.

Kuzco couldn't help but give his trademark smirk. "Yeah, that's what I thought. So anyways," he said, his smile fading, "I..."

He faltered. How was he supposed to get the words out? He didn't know how to. Everything in his mind was a huge mess. A huge, tangled up mess of thoughts and pictures.

"I guess I just..." he tried again, but his tongue failed him. "I don't...I'm..."

 _Come on, just say it! Say something! Anything,_ he urged himself. _Stop looking like a total loser._

"I'm Yzma!" he blurted out finally.

Pacha stared at him, bewildered. "What?"

Kuzco groaned and slapped himself on the forehead. That came out wrong. Really wrong.

"Th—that's not what I meant—!" he said, desperately trying to correct himself. "I mean, I just..." he sighed. "I was thinking...about how Yzma never cared about anyone and she would do anything to get her way—I guess that's why I never liked her that much," Kuzco said hurriedly trying to get the thought out of his head. Maybe now it wouldn't bother him so much—but then he began realizing in a whole new light why no one had cared that he was presumably dead (as Kronk so conveniently mentioned outside of Mudka's on that rainy afternoon. He'd never forget that day, try as he might).

Pacha nudged him gently. "Go on."

"...So, I was wondering, 'wow, who in the world could be as heartless as her to do anything, no matter what the cost, just for their own selfish motives?'And then I just kind of realized. Well..." he trailed off, looking up at Pacha.

He watched the gears turn in Pacha's head as he realized what he was saying. His eyes slowly widened.

"Oh."

Really? Pacha tells him to spill his problems, and all he gets in return is a measly 'oh?' "Gee, thanks for the support, Pacha, now all my problems are solved!" Kuzco snapped as he stared downward.

"Kuzco..."

He looked down at his toes until he felt the warm, heavy weight of Pacha's arm wrap around his shoulder. He wanted to make a big deal of pushing the peasant's arm off because he didn't need his pity, but he decided against it. He didn't want to ruin this whole "friend" thing.

He...well, he liked it. He liked having someone there for him, for once. Someone solidly, tangibly, reassuringly there.

Someone who didn't ignore him until it was too late, someone who disappear on him when he needed them the most...

"You're a changed man now. You know that," Pacha said, his rugged yet warm voice bringing Kuzco back to reality.

"Doesn't mean that anyone's gonna believe I'm a changed man," Kuzco retorted. "I've spent so many years creating this—this image for myself, and then boom. How's anyone gonna believe that I'm not the old Kuzco?"

"...Who says," he whispered as he dug his nails into the dirt, "that I won't become the old Kuzco in a few weeks' time?"

Pacha stared at Kuzco for a long time.

Like, a really long time. Kuzco was just about to say that Pacha was kind of scaring him when the peasant came to an abrupt conclusion.

"You are the old Kuzco."

Silence. Numbness. Kuzco felt a nasty sinking sensation in his chest. "What?"

"I said, you are the old Kuzco," Pacha repeated. "But..." He added, "you're a new Kuzco too."

Now it was Kuzco's turn to stare at Pacha. "Okay, now you're making no sense."

"Yes, I am," the peasant insisted. "Look, when I first met you, you seemed like a spoiled, selfish brat—"

Kuzco sniffed. "Thanks."

Pacha ignored his comment and continued. "—but I knew that there was some good in you. You just had to tap it out. Granted, it took a lot of tapping and poking and prodding...a loooot—"

"Get to the point."

"Well...you came through in the end. You saved my life twice, even though you knew you could've just walked away."

Kuzco rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Anyone would've done that. Nobody's that heartless."

"Exactly my point. You do have good in you." Pacha grinned. "You just needed a little help getting it to the outside world instead of just keeping it caged up inside of yourself. And now it's slowly coming outside, bit by bit."

"Like...baby steps," Kuzco said.

Pacha nodded. "Mm—hmm. Baby steps. What I'm trying to say is, the world may not know how good of a person you are yet, but they will eventually. It may not feel like you're doing much, but it'll all be worth it in the end."

Kuzco could feel the corners of his mouth twitch as the beginnings of a smile were creeping up on his face. "I guess."

And then they were interrupted by a voice.

"Pacha!" he heard a woman call up from the peasant's hilltop. "It's time to put the kids to bed!"

"Coming, Chicha!" Pacha responded, slowly getting up and nudging Kuzco's shoulder gently as he did so.

"Hey, if you ever need to talk about anything else, I'm there, alright? I'm usually up on that tuneless little hilltop," he said, chuckling.

The smile that was forming took over Kuzco's face. "Right," he said, getting up as well. "Well, guess I'll head back to my hut too, then."

"Mm—hmm. Alright. See you then, Kuzco."

The emperor said his goodbye, but he wasn't quite ready to take leave yet.

"Hey, Pacha."

The peasant turned around. "Yeah?"

"You...you told me that it'll all be worth it in the end, but..." Kuzco could feel his face turn hot as he blurted out the remaining words. "Was it all worth it for you in the end?"

Pacha seemed confused at first as to what Kuzco was talking about, but then his face slowly broke into a smile.

"You bet it was."

Kuzco looked up at Pacha's warm, inviting smile. He saw his encouraging eyes, crinkled at the corners, and for a moment, he forgot of being emperor. He was a simple peasant boy, enjoying the gentle, balmy night with his...

He cursed inwardly. Was he really about to think Pacha was his father? What was wrong with him? He was feeling too many things too quickly.

Great. Just when he was beginning to feel happy again, something had to push him back down. Stupid brain. Nevertheless, he smiled at Pacha.

"Well, goodnight, I guess."

"Goodnight!" the peasant called back to him as he walked up that tuneless little hilltop up to his house.

Kuzco knew he should be getting back home, but he allowed himself to stand there near the pool for a moment, looking up at Pacha's hilltop.

He saw the figure of a woman, no doubt Pacha's wife. Then he saw two smaller figures. Children, he assumed. They ran up toward their dad as he made his way home, and the three of them collapsed into a bear hug led by Pacha.

Pacha and the children then made their way to the woman (what had Pacha called her? Chicha?), and then they appeared to stand there, talking for a few moments while the children seemed to be trying to get Pacha's attention. Then Pacha knelt down, heard something one of the children said, and then they all started laughing as they went inside. The door closed and they didn't come back out.

"Alright, show's over," Kuzco muttered to himself as he walked back to his summer house.

And yet he couldn't help but wonder what it was like. What was it like to be out working the whole day, tending to crops and smelly livestock, drenched in sweat and smeared with dirt? The peasant life didn't seem particularly rewarding. So what was up with Pacha and Chicha and their army of midgets? Why were they so happy?

 _Family._ The word sounded so strange to him. And he couldn't just shake it off, either. Pacha wasn't just his friend, he was also a father. And father was just as strange of a word to Kuzco.

His father would always be that jerk who pushed him away until the very end. And his mother would never be Chicha. He didn't even know Chicha and yet he still knew she'd be a better mother. His mother would be the other person who always pushed him away, the one who died right when her son needed him the most. That would be their legacy. In Kuzco's book, at least.

Kuzco narrowed his eyes, and his mind quickly ran through every curse known to man. He didn't like thinking about his parents. He didn't like talking about his parents. At least, he thought that he wouldn't like talking about his parents. No one had ever bothered to ask him about it. Or maybe they did and he was too self—conceited to notice...so great, it was his fault now. Whatever. It wasn't like he ever asked for a family. He was an emperor. A god on Earth.

And why would a god need a family?

But...he couldn't help but wonder what it was like to live up on that hilltop. Feeling like he belonged somewhere, now that the palace would never again be the same for him.

Kuzco reached his hut, closed the front door, and lit a candle. He was going to be up for a while.

He changed into his pajamas and then lay down on his bed in exhaustion, letting out a melodramatic groan. Who knew that having fun in pools and getting pep talks from Pacha could be so tiring?

After a moment or two, Kuzco got back up, realizing that he forgot something. He opened one of the drawers on his nightstand and grabbed his Wompy by the arm, smiling at it. He closed the drawer, and for a fleeting moment, he was glad that he wasn't living with Pacha. Seriously, if the man found out that he slept with a stuffed purple doll, he'd never let Kuzco hear the end of it.

But just as quickly as that moment of relief came, it vanished. He saw Pacha's house. He saw Pacha's family, doing family things...whatever...families did. Ugh, he didn't even know what they were doing! So why did he want to do it so badly?

Sure, he had heard the word _family_ before, but he never really stopped to consider what it was. For half of his childhood, he never even acknowledged that he was part of a family, or that he even had parents. That was because his parents never noticed him, too busy carrying out royal duties and managing the empire. And so he never knew what family was, and he'd never really seen it, so it never really bothered him, since it never really concerned him. And if it didn't concern him, it didn't matter. But then, of course, he just had to see Pacha's family, get an abstract idea of what family was, and let it bother him now.

The universe just seemed to love hating him.

In a way, the concept of family was kind of like the concept of friends. They were terms that were in his database of words, but not in his everyday vocabulary. They were concepts that were far away to him; almost exotic, in a way. The only difference was that he had a friend now. He didn't have a family.

Those stupid peasants had to introduce what he now knew he'd never have to him.

Sure, Pacha could be nice and fatherly to him. He could even want to have Kuzco as a son the same way Kuzco wanted a dad like Pacha. But he knew that he'd have to go back to the palace eventually. He couldn't just stay in this village forever. And that was why he'd never truly belong here.

And there were probably a million other Pachas out there; being caring and considerate just seemed to be a tenet of peasant life. Pacha was just as nice to everyone else as he was to Kuzco. After eighteen years in a life of lavish disillusionment, it was pretty hard for the emperor to take in the fact that he was not as special as he once thought he was.

Not a god. Not a peasant. Who was... _Kuzco?_ It made his head hurt just to think about it.

"Alright Kuzco," he told himself. "That's enough deep thinking for today. Let's sleep on it now."

And with that, he blew out his candle, pulled up the covers, and closed his eyes, not sure exactly what to make of his funny peasant friend and that tuneless little hilltop he lived on.

* * *

 _Well! Perhaps a little too angsty given the source material? That was quite fun for me, though, I really liked writing interactions between Pacha and Kuzco. :) Love me some character dynamics. But now I'm off to write a huge lab report for chemistry. Updates may be erratic, but stay tuned! I refuse to give into the dead fic culture._


	3. To Catch a Rat and Tame a Jaguar

_Hello again! Thanksgiving update, whoo! I am so in that holiday mood, I'm literally scarfing down a slice of apple pie while proofreading this. Anyways, yes, this chapter is pretty long. I don't think I will write a chapter as long as this afterwards, though. Most of it is of Kuzco establishing character dynamics with the rest of Pacha's family. Fun! I feel like this particular chapter isn't my absolute best work though...I hope you guys can brave it through this one, because I feel like the next chapter is actually coming along quite well!_

* * *

Kuzco woke up the next morning to the sunlight gently streaming into his hut through an open window.

Normally, he would have slept in for a while, all his curtains drawn, doors closed, snuggled in his big bed with Wompy. But that was back at the palace. Things worked a little differently here at the village—not necessarily a bad kind of different, though.

Just different.

He rubbed his eyes, stretched a little, and then gently placed Wompy on his nightstand. He ambled into his bathroom.

While brushing his teeth, he wondered what he would do for the day. After all, it was his last day here at the village. Of course he could come back again whenever he wished, but tomorrow he had to head back to the palace and, well...catch up on emperor stuff. Dedicating buildings. Talking to the royal council. Stuff like that. The least he could do was make his last day memorable.

But he couldn't just sit in the pool all day. His beautiful face would get all shriveled! And plus, it was a public pool, open to all of the peasants as well as him. Who knew what surprises were in there, waiting to be found. Kuzco shuddered. Ugh, great. Now he was going to think twice before setting foot in that pool again.

The pool was out of the question. What about just staying indoors for the entire day, keeping to himself? Yeah. Kuzco time with Kuzco, starring Kuzco. That has a nice ring to it, he thought as he slipped into a poncho.

But...no. He shook his head. He'd already had enough alone time back at the palace. Plus, who said he'd truly be alone? His stupid brain would keep bothering him, feeding him negative thoughts. He wanted to do something...different. He wanted to do something...with someone.

His thoughts drifted to the house on the hilltop. Yeah, that sounded good. He'd go do stuff with Pacha. And maybe the rest of his family, too. He'd get to know them, and then he'd have more friends to do stuff with, so it wouldn't look like he was specifically dependent on Pacha. He'd ask good ol' Pacha to introduce him, and then—

 _Woah, woah, woah, hold it!_ said the obnoxious voice in his head, interrupting him. _What are you trying to do, adopt yourself into their family?_

At this point, Kuzco felt like punching the voice in his head right in its nonexistent face, but he thought better of it. It would just give him an unwanted headache, so instead he just satisfied himself by muttering "stupid brain."

...Wait. Did he just talk to himself? He had just stooped the loneliest level of lonely. How pathetic. That settled it. He was going to march right up to Pacha's house and demand that he introduce him to his family. Emperor's orders. And then they'd do stuff. He didn't know what stuff, exactly, but he would work out the details along the way.

 _Besides, just because I can't do family stuff with them doesn't mean I can't do neighbory stuff with them,_ he thought.

And with that thought fueling his confidence, the young emperor pushed open the door in front of him and exited the bathroom, ready to start the day.

And then he spotted two kids sitting on his bed.

* * *

There were things Kuzco wanted to say. A lot of things Kuzco wanted to say. But the first words that came out of his mouth were:

"I thought I locked the door."

"You did," one of the kids on the bed said. She was a small girl with pigtails who sported a pair of crooked buckteeth. "But I picked the lock!" she continued brightly, producing a bent hairpin out of seemingly nowhere.

Kuzco stared at her in disbelief. That was a royal lock, presumably made by one of the best metalsmiths in the empire.

"Wha...how?"

"Oh, it was easy," the girl said, waving her hand nonchalantly. "First, I took my hairpin out, and then I bent it half. After that, I stuck it up the lock and felt for the latch and—"

"Uh-huh, that's nice," Kuzco interrupted, unceremoniously ending the explanation. "So...why are you here? Aren't you aware that this is the emperor's summer home? No crossy without permission."

"But it's an emergency!" the other kid exclaimed, jumping off the bed. This one appeared to be a boy, his hair tied up at the top of his head, resembling a small black fountain. He flailed his chubby arms in the air as he tried to make his point.

"...Right. An emergency," said Kuzco, quoting the air. "And what exactly would this _emergency_ be?"

"We found a rat under our bed!" the girl piped up, looking at him expectantly.

Kuzco frowned. "And what? I look like an exterminator to you?"

"Well..." The girl frowned as well. "No," she admitted finally.

"Then go ask your parents or something. Go on," said the emperor, waving them off. "Shoo. Vamoose."

"But we can't ask our parents," said the boy insistently. "Mom's too busy making lunch and looking after Yupi, and—"

The emperor's brows furrowed in confusion at the unknown name. "Yupi?"

The girl nodded. "Yeah, he's our baby brother. Oh— I'm Chaca and that's Tipo, by the way," she added, pointing to the small boy with the fountain—hair. "So anyways, Mom's too busy, and Dad's out at the marketplace trading for stuff, so he told us to go get you if we needed help with anything, and—" she paused for a moment, looking Kuzco up and down. "You are Emperor Kuzco, right?"

Kuzco huffed. "Of course I am. And..." his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Who exactly is this dad of yours who told you to come see me?"

"Pacha," the kids responded in unison.

"Figures," he muttered. So Pacha was out at the marketplace. That was at the center of the empire, near the palace. The man must have left at dawn if he was at the marketplace now. He probably wouldn't be back until evening. There went Kuzco's plans for the day. And now he had to play babysitter too. He crossed his arms. _Thanks, Pach._

But wait...these were Pacha's kids, right?

 _So I'm gonna have to go over to their house, he thought. And then I can be all neighbory...and stuff. Although it's gonna be kind of awkward making introductions without Pacha being there...ah, whatever. I'm freaking Kuzco! I can pull this off with my charm and good looks. Heh._

"Alright, fine, I'll check this rat thing out...I guess," he replied as Chaca and Tipo hopped off the bed and followed him outside.

* * *

"You know, you don't look like an emperor," Chaca said as she eyed Kuzco on the walk up the hill.

He eyed her back. "And what were you expecting?"

"Hmm..." she said, seriously contemplating this. "Someone more buff," she decided. "And good—looking."

He gritted his teeth as he tuned her out. He hadn't even been with this kid for ten minutes and she was already getting on his nerves. The little brat thought she had the right to insult her emperor, her supreme—

"No!" he shouted suddenly.

Chaca stopped listing various ideal attributes and raised an eyebrow at Kuzco. "What?"

He had to channel that Yzma out of him. He couldn't go revert to his old self, Pacha believed in him...and as much as he hated to admit it, Kuzco cared what Pacha thought of him. Gods, why did life always become so harder when other people were thrown into the mix? Couldn't he just be happy being a loner? And yet he couldn't stop thinking of last night and that hilltop full of life that he once thought was so tuneless...

Kuzco took a deep breath. _Okay. Humor them._

"Uh—well, I bet you've never seen an emperor in person then."

"Fair enough," Chaca replied. "I mean, I expected you to be older, too. How old are you anyways?"

"Eighteen," he said coolly. "And my blood type is A negative, and my sandal size is seven."

Chaca gawked at him. "I didn't ask for any—"

"I know. Just figured I'd answer before you inevitably did."

Tipo broke into a giggle fit until Chaca gently elbowed his chest. "Not funny," she grumbled.

"You're weird," Tipo said, snorting.

Kuzco rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"It's a good kind of weird, though," Chaca interjected as Tipo nodded. "That would have been kind of funny, actually, if it wasn't directed at me."

"Huh. Well, thanks...I guess," said the emperor, as the three of them continued to walk up the hill.

* * *

As they neared the house, Kuzco examined it. It seemed to be a bit smaller than he remembered it to be. Definitely going for that small yet cozy vibe, he thought. He turned to the children.

"So, where's this rat you two were talking about earlier?"

"Oh! It's in our bedroom," Chaca replied as Tipo grabbed Kuzco by the arm and pulled him into Pacha's hut, followed by the protest of "no touchy!", courtesy of the emperor.

Kuzco staggered inside, taking in the surroundings of the hut.

The place was open and inviting, much more roomier than anyone would have thought it might have been from the outside.

A few feet in front of him, there stood a sink with a few dishes stacked on a drying rack right next to it.

To his right, he saw an entrance to another room, steam hissing out of it. He could hear something boiling and bubbling. Probably the kitchen. Chicha must have been in there, making lunch.

And to his left, he saw a staircase that the kids were beckoning him toward.

"Hey, hey, alright," said Kuzco as Chaca and Tipo yanked his arms in an effort to get him up the stairs. Instead, they ended up making him trip over the first step and fall face first. He yelped in pain, naturally.

"Kids!" he heard a concerned voice emanate from the kitchen. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, Mom!" Tipo called back. "We just invited a friend over! We're going upstairs, okay?"

"Okay!" the voice called back. It also said something else, but Kuzco couldn't comprehend the rest because, in truth, he was a bit shocked.

 _Friend._

Tipo had called him _friend._

He saw the kids go upstairs and smiled to himself.

 _Huh. Maybe I do have this whole neighbor thing down pat,_ he thought to himself as he followed them up the stairs.

* * *

Kuzco walked into the bedroom, taking care not to step on the various toys strewn across the floor.

"Okay," said Chaca, clearly meaning business. She pointed to underneath what appeared to be the bottom bunk of a bunk bed. "The rat's under there."

Kuzco grimaced. Right. The rat. That's why he was here. And now he had to get a dirty, smelly rat that probably carried some sort of disgusting disease out from under a bed. Why him?

Because neighbors, he thought. Because neighbors. Because you don't want to spend the rest of your life talking to a stupid voice inside your brain.

He swallowed down whatever disgust he had plastered a grin onto his face, rubbing his hands together and walking toward the bunk bed. "Alright, kiddos, move along. 'Cause Emperor Kuzco has got this down, baby!"

Kuzco knelt down, squinting to see what was under the bed.

"So, why don't you guys wanna touch this thing?" Kuzco asked.

"Well, 'cause it's a rat," he heard Chaca say.

"Uh-huh. And you have no problem with _me_ touching it."

"...Oh. Uh. Well..." he heard her say hesitantly.

To his surprise, Kuzco found himself laughing rather than being angered. "Hey, it's cool. I probably would have done the same thing. And besides, maybe we can get this thing out without touching it. That is," he said, frowning as he peered into the darkness, "if I can find the freaking thing."

He got out from under the bed and looked at the kids. "Get me a stick or something."

Tipo was the first to oblige, grabbing a twig and handing it to Kuzco.

"Thanks, I...wait, why do you have twigs in your room?"

Chaca stuck her tongue out. "Junior Chipmunk stuff. Tipo always comes home with sticks and bugs in his hair."

"Hey! I'm trying to get my forager badge."

"Please, Tipo. That's such a boring one. Everyone knows the fishing badge is the best."

"Fishing's boring."

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

They continued what seemed to be a never-ending battle consisting of only those two phrases as Kuzco took hold of the branch and stuck his neck back into the darkness, slowly feeling his way around with his newfound tool. he poked and prodded, trying to feel if there was anything undeneath. Just when he was about to give up, he felt the tip of branch touch something soft, and a startled squeak was heard soon afterwards. Aha. Jackpot.

"Alright," said the emperor. "Enough fun and games, little guy. Time to come out."

In one swift movement, he gently shoved the stick into the rat's stomach and got back out, his stick now housing a small, furry, and quite frightened rodent perched on top of it.

The kids stopped arguing as suddenly as they had started and applauded. Kuzco beamed, mentally applauding himself as well until the children ceased clapping and he felt something furry tickle his neck and shoulders.

The rat.

The young man jumped up and proceeded to shriek, "gedditoffgedditoffgedditoffgedditoff!", but then it seemed as if the rat decided that it had had enough fun distressing him. It fell down into Kuzco's lap with a plop as he sat down on the bottom of the bunk bed trying to calm himself down.

His face was burning as Chaca and Tipo howled with laughter. He glared down at the rat. "It's all your fault," he muttered, then stopped talking as he realized something.

"What the—this isn't a rat. Look at its ears, they're huge."

The "rat's" pink nose quivered and it buried its face into Kuzco's palms, as if it were suddenly self-conscious of its ear size.

"Woah, Kuzco's right," Chaca noted, kneeling down next to the bed. "Its tail isn't all gross and pink and naked, it's fluffy."

Kuzco stared down at the creature, meeting its huge, black eyes as it squeaked and pawed at his palms.

"It's a chinchilla," he told the kids, grinning. "Man, I haven't seen one of these in ages."

The rodent squeaked and bobbed its head as if in agreement and hopped onto Kuzco's shoulder.

"Ooh," the children exclaimed in unison, looking just about ready to worship the furry creature.

"Looks like it likes you," Tipo said.

Kuzco laughed. "Who wouldn't? Er—just kidding," he added sheepishly. He could almost feel Pacha's presence in the room, shaking his head in disapproval. "Um...you wanna hold it?" he offered.

"Yesyesyes!" Four small, eager hands stretched out into Kuzco's face.

Kuzco scooped up the chinchilla from its perching spot and placed it in Chaca's hands, despite Tipo's protests ("Sorry, buddy, the thing's pretty much half your size. You'd probably get smothered or something"). Nevertheless, both children were starry-eyed as they stroked the chinchilla, who seemed to be enjoying basking in all the newfound attention.

The three sat there, first in an uncomfortable silence, which gave way into small talk, eventually winding up into conversational territory when Chaca asked about Kuzco's adventures as a llama. It always came back to that, but it really helped with kickstarting conversations. And Kuzco obliged, not leaving out a single detail.

"Woah, so not only did the bridge break, there were scorpions too?" Chaca asked.

"And bats!" interjected Kuzco. He shuddered as he thought of how they all flew into his mouth for a fleeting moment. "Don't forget the bats."

"And the waterfall!" Tipo threw up his hands in triumph as he turned to Chaca. "See, told you my dream about dad was true."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, I still wouldn't call it a _'raging river of death.'_ "

"Well, at least mine actually makes sense! Why would Dad ever have to kiss a llama?"

The two were interrupted by a very loud cough from a very red-faced Kuzco.

"...Yeah, totally agree."

He didn't know when, exactly, but the conversation eventually turned away from himself. Tipo excitedly spoke of the harvesting festivals; warm plates and bowls heaped with dishes of potatoes and corn and fish seasoned with chilis, giant bells and flutes delivering bold melodies the kids stamped and danced together to as they played games and cracked jokes, everyone's worries forgotten in the midst of celebration.

Chaca, a bit more aware that Kuzco wasn't quite accustomed to a peasants' life, spoke of the smaller, more mundane rituals, yet in a way that made even washing the clothes seem memorable. Bright hues of pink and green and yellow and blue swirling around in their huge, wooden washing basin, Chaca and Tipo scrubbing the clothes clean while Pacha and Chicha smoothed out the creased, soaking fabric and hung them up to dry on an aged, wooden bar where the clothes would be baked by the sun, nature's oven. But the task was never truly done until the kids splashed around in the suds, splashing water into one another's faces with little Yupi sitting in the middle, squealing in laughter as some of the water hit him as well, a cool relief in the sweltering Peruvian summer.

Kuzco never considered how his clothes were washed. In all honesty, he didn't even know if his clothes were washed; he may have been wearing brand-new robes every single day, for all he knew. Sovereigns could not afford to have even a speck on their robes, it was an insult to their noble stature, a deviation from godliness.

And so he just was not able to explain, for the life of him, why he wanted to see those red robes be swirled around in the basin and set to rest on a rickety wooden bar.

But he supposed some things were beyond explaining: things such as the oddly compatible trio of an excitable young boy, a precocious young girl, and a confused yet eager monarch talking away the hours. The chinchilla seemed eager as well, bounding between each of the three pairs of hands as they spoke.

They eventually made their way up to the top bunk. They lay down and and gazed at the ceiling, the silence between them now a comfortable one. Kuzco closed his eyes, trying to regain his breath—not from tiring his body out physically, but from talking so much.

Never in his life had he talked that much in so little time. Back at the palace, things got done with a snap of his finger, maybe a few short "yeses" and "nos," but barely anything beyond that. In fact, the only person he'd ever talked to as much as he'd just talked now was Pacha, probably. Over the span of...two days? Three? It was jarring how short of a time it was, and yet how so many things still happened. Eighteen years of a set way of life, turned upside-down in less than even a week's time...

His eyes snapped open as he heard a voice shout.

"Kids! Lunch!"

Chaca and Tipo hopped off the bed as the door creaked open, leaving Kuzco with the chinchilla perched on his shoulder, just as confused as he was. A fairly tall woman peered in, her eyes scanning the room until her gaze met Kuzco's up at the top bunk. Unsure what to do, he quickly averted it. His flawless memory reminded him that Chicha could pack quite a punch; he wasn't ready to feel a faceful of frying pan again just yet.

"What, too high-and-mighty to look me in the eye?"

Kuzco froze, then slowly, slowly lifted his head up to meet Chicha's gaze once more.

One of her strong, dark brows was raised, large copper earrings and bouncy black curls framing the expectant expression on her face. Her arms were crossed, yellow robes swaying gently in the breeze from the room's single window.

"Kuzco, right?"

"Yeeeahh," he said, stretching his reply out as long as possible while he searched his brain for something else to say. Nothing came.

She bent down and looked at the kids. "I know you said you invited a friend over, but I didn't know that meant _the person who almost destroyed our entire village."_

Her arms were now akimbo as heat crept up the boy's cheeks. Sure, she had a right to be upset with him, but that didn't mean he had to like it. And it certainly didn't help with the whole neighbor thing.

"Uh...sorry?" he offered weakly, palms spread out in front of him.

She pursed her lips. "Mhm."

Was that approval? Acceptance of his apology? He had never used that word before, it tasted strange and foreign on his tongue. And yet when she was about to walk away with the kids, he knew he had to use it again—for his sake, at least. Winning the kids over was easy with his natural charisma and charming demeanor (which he seemed to be strangely lacking at the moment), but gaining the approval of this Mama Jaguar would be a challenge.

"Wait," he called out, in a tone squeakier and more unbecoming than he expected. He flinched at it, but Chicha turned around nevertheless.

"Um...sorry," he began again, feeling the strange word snaking its way out of his mouth.

"Just learning how to use that word isn't going to cut it," said Chicha.

And how true that was. He knew he should say more, but what?

Or should he not think about it at all?

Maybe that was it. Just don't think about how to start it off, just let it all out.

"I could have cared less about getting rid of this village," he blurted out quickly. "It was just taking up space that could have been mine."

Ugh, just speak without thinking? _Thanks brain, worst idea ever._ Chicha looked confused and a bit disgusted as Kuzco groaned inwardly. He was not off to a good start.

"But..." he swallowed down his pride. "I was wrong."

Chicha's expression softened a little.

Okay, maybe now he was getting somewhere.

"I never knew about the people up here. Since it wasn't important to me, it wasn't important to anyone, and maybe if i did actually do it you would have been dead, but I wouldn't know you so I wouldn't care but now I do know you, I know you and I know Pacha and maybe that shouldn't make any difference, but I know it does, but there's still one thing I don't know, its how even when your floors are literally dirt and clothes have tears in them and you're soaked in sweat and smell all day, you're happy with it!" He yelled, then closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath.

Silence. When he opened his eyes again, Chicha was now fully turned to face him. Tipo and Chaca peered out from behind, clutching onto their Mama Jaguar's yellow robes.

And..." Kuzco sighed. "Maybe I'll never understand that. Maybe I'll never totally get why you're so happy or how you're so happy. But I'll admit, I, uh...I can appreciate it. And I don't want to destroy that. So..." he cleared his throat. "That's why I'm sorry."

Chicha still appeared confused, her brows still furrowed and her expression still sour. Perhaps some battles just couldn't be won. Kuzco was just about to say he'd take leave when she decided to speak.

"You don't sound like the man Pacha was telling me about after his visit to the palace."

Ugh, it was always this. _Changed man, changed man._ Okay, maybe he had changed. But did it always have to be pointed out? You can't say you've changed without pointing out how you were once an idiot in the process...and that just wasn't groovy.

"Well, believe it or not, it's me," Kuzco said. "And I feel like I've said my part the best I could, so...nice seeing you, I guess."

He made his way to the door when Chicha unceremoniously blocked him. He gulped, wondering what he had did wrong now.

"Rule number one of a Chicha household: you can't leave until you have at least one meal here."

The young man was taken aback. He had expected to feel the brunt of Chicha's fury, but instead she was offering him lunch. People were so complicated...

"And don't complain about how it's not the fancy whatever-it-is you eat back at your palace. My house, my rules. By the way, what's that thing on your shoulder?"

"Oh, that's Silvie," Chaca said nonchalantly before Kuzco could even open his mouth. "Short for silver."

"What? No, that's Puma."

"Puma?" Chaca snorted. "It's a _chinchilla."_

"Well, who said that _you_ could get to name it?" Tipo stuck his tongue out.

"Well, I come up with better names than you anyways!" Chaca crossed her arms and followed her brother as he walked out of the room.

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

A chorus of _do-not-do-toos_ echoed down the stairs as Chicha leaned against the doorframe and sighed, giving Kuzco a tired yet knowing smile, as if saying, _you know how kids are._

But didn't know how kids were, so he just gave a stiff, awkward smile as the two headed down the stairs to lunch.

* * *

"And there were scorpions too?" Chicha asked incredulously, eyes wide.

"And don't forget the bats!" Tipo chimed in.

"Wow." Chicha crossed her arms and considered this. "My husband risked his life to save you. You better be grateful."

Kuzco crossed his legs on the bench in the living room. "Oh, believe me, I am."

A smile tugged on the corners of Chicha's mouth. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt."

Kuzco smiled back. "Yeah?"

Chicha's smile was more genuine now, reaching her dark brown eyes. The whole atmosphere of the room began to lighten as Mama Jaguar began to shed off the cold exterior she had greeted the emperor with.

"You know, you don't even seem like an emperor right now."

He couldn't argue with that. He wasn't reclining in his golden throne and woolen robes, ordering servants around in the heart of the empire. Instead, he sat on a crude, wooden bench on the outskirts of the capital, in a plain red poncho, a sleeping chinchilla nestled between his hands. He'd had a peasant lunch for the first time in his life: fish stew and corn cakes. No roast duck, no spinach puffs, no spiced cocoa. But...lunch wasn't bad.

Just different.

"Hey! You in there?" A hand waved in front of his face.

He snapped to attention, looking up at Chicha.

"I called your name four times."

"Ah," he said dumbly, wondering what was up with this family and its knack to suddenly render him incapable of speech.

"Making dinner," Chicha said, pointing back to the kitchen. "You coming?"

"Oh." Dinner too? Well, it wasn't like he had much to do in this village anyway. "Yeah, just tell me when it's ready."

He was met with laughter, of all things. Chicha had one hand on her forehead and one on her stomach as she chuckled, with Chaca and Tipo sniggering as well, their hands over their mouths.

"Oh, you're not just staying for dinner," Chicha explained after the laughter subsided. "You're making it."

* * *

Chaca and Tipo stayed at the dining table, happily feeding Silvie/Puma (a decisive name still hadn't been chosen, and frankly, neither sounded all that amazing to Kuzco) a twig Kuzco had yanked off for them from a tree just outside their house. Meanwhile, Kuzco frowned down at his potatoes, weakly grazing them with a knife.

Chicha walked up to him, her arms on her hips, a bowl of finely chopped tomatoes and avocadoes nested in the crook of one of them. Now it was her turn to frown.

"You haven't even started yet?"

"Oh! I, uh—" he fumbled with his knife, nearly dropping it. "Of course I've started, uh..." He could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead as Chicha looked at him expectantly. Without thinking, he dove the knife straight into a potato, stared at it in silence for a moment, then picked up the knife by the handle, its blade now adorned with the vegetable. His cheeks grew warm as he offered the knife to Chicha. "I think it's stuck."

There it was again, that laughter. What was he to the village, some sort of joke? Perhaps he was the laughingstock of the entire empire and he just didn't know it. Chicha used her free arm to wipe a tear from her eye as Kuzco stood there, silent and expressionless.

"You really don't know how to look after yourself, do you?"

Kuzco clenched his fists. "No! And I'd appreciate it if I wasn't laughed at for it, thanks," he snapped. Chicha's smile faded as Kuzco turned his back to face those stupid potatoes once more.

A warm, gentle breeze wafted in from the kitchen windows, but to Kuzco, it felt like it was raining. Stupid and cold and grey and dreary and stupid, while he stood there, speechless and stupid. Everything was stupid. He was in front of Mudka's, once more a stupid llama, eavesdropping on words he would never forget, try as he might.

 _The empire will finally be rid of that useless slug._

He dropped his knife and heard a dull clang as it hit the floor. That's what Yzma had said. Emperors were reincarnations of Inti, the great Sun God himself. The great life force that helped the crops of the empire thrive. He was the sun, the people his crops.

But these crops...they thrived on their own. He didn't know who or what it was, but they already had their own Sun.

And he certainly wasn't a crop, so what exactly was he? He bit his lip.

A hand gently touched his shoulder as he stared down at the counter.

"Kuzco." It was Chicha. No snark, no aggression, just something that sounded like concern. "It's okay if you don't know everything."

"But that's not my problem, is it?" He answered bitterly. "I don't know anything."

"What? That's not what I meant—"

"Maybe that's not what you said, but that's what's true. All of you know exactly what to do, and exactly how to do it. It doesn't matter if you have basically nothing, you still know how to roll with it. And...I can't and I don't know why." He looked up at Chicha and sighed. "I'm the emperor. I'm supposed to know what to do."

Chicha looked down, brows furrowed as Kuzco picked up the knife and set it back on the counter.

"You're not the emperor," she said finally.

His eyes narrowed in confusion. "What?" What was it with this family and spouting advice that never made sense?

"Emperor, that's...well, that's just a title," she explained. "Emperor isn't the only part of you, though."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. You're a mom, a wife, a neighbor, a good cook—"

"Hey, are you trying to flatter me into liking you?"

He smirked. "Maybe."

Chicha chuckled. "See? You're just as much of a person as any of us. And not paying attention to that can hurt you."

"Mmm. I get you. But...if I'm not just emperor, then what else am I?"

The front door creaked as it was flung open.

"Honey, I'm back!" Pacha yelled from the entrance.

Chicha crossed her arms and smiled knowingly, and this time Kuzco could understand what that smile meant.

"Take a guess."

* * *

A friend.

Kuzco was a friend. Reminders of that were strewn all throughout dinner.

"Mmm, Chicha—" Pacha said between bites of dinner, "—the quinoa's amazing."

"Well, don't thank just me," she said, raising an eyebrow and smiling. "Llama Boy here helped me too."

Pacha blinked for a second, trying to process what she'd said. Kuzco laughed.

"Yeah, I can't believe it either. I didn't even know how to peel and cut a potato until an hour ago."

"Well, it's good you're learning," said Pacha, piling more food onto his plate.

"Heh. Yeah."

Suddenly, a grey furball leapt onto the table, disrupting the peace as both Chaca and Tipo leapt up from their seats.

"Dad, look, it's Silvie! I think it's hungry."

"Here, Puma." Tipo offered his spoon to the creature. "Want some of my tomatoes?"

"Oh no no no!" Now it was Kuzco's turn to jump out of his seat. "Put that spoon down. Chinchillas can't eat tomatoes, it makes them sick."

"Ohh," Tipo said quietly as he set the spoon down. "Sorry, buddy," he told the chinchilla.

"Huh. How do you know that?" Pacha asked Kuzco as the boy gently scooped up the chinchilla in his hands and placed it in his lap.

"Had one once," he replied. "Named her Bean—don't laugh, she was really small and I was like, ten," he protested when he heard the kids snort. "Anyways, I found her in the palace garden. She was screeching and it was annoying me, I couldn't go to sleep. I tried to shoo her off but she just stuck to me and wouldn't let go." He laughed. "I sure didn't sleep that night, but she did. On my shoulder." He chuckled, recalling the memory. "Man, Yzma was so mad when she found that thing scurrying in my bedroom."

"I...wait," Pacha said, setting his spoon down and staring across the table at Kuzco. "Yzma?"

"Ah, yeah," Kuzco said, grimacing a little. "She practically raised me. And let me tell you, it was a trip."

"That's...awful."

He smiled. "Oh man, you're telling me."

"So...what happened to Bean?" Chaca asked.

Kuzco's smile faded. "Oh. Uh, Yzma found her in my room and chewed me out. Something about how it was beneath me to take her in, huge mistakes start with small actions, I'd eventually squander the empire's resources and end up housing a village in my palace, pity was a tactic people used to manipulate my choices so I shouldn't pay attention to them, yadda yadda yadda. I woke up the next day and that was it. Bean was gone and I never saw her again."

Pacha gazed at him sadly. "I'm sorry, Kuzco."

"It's fine," he said, fondling the little furball in his lap. "This guy's just as cute and furry."

"Er, no. I mean—I'm sorry you had someone like...her growing up."

"Oh..." he trailed off. Yzma. The only person with whom he had held conversations with in his entire childhood. Every day was a new lesson: _bow down to no one. Don't allow anyone to make you feel for them. Being hard on people is the only way to teach them to submit._ Only now could he truly see how it all made him worse, how it had all been poison she was feeding him. But any attention was better than no attention at all...right? She'd helped him up when he scuffed his knees, she talked to him when he cried and couldn't sleep on a stormy night. She pretended to care to keep her position, gain his trust, then strike at just the right time. Snuff out the light she'd helped kindle in the first place. He gritted his teeth. Yzma had been the one to manipulate him all this time. And feeling things for others...that was the way he got out of the hole, not into it.

"Well...you got us, Kuzco," Pacha said as picked up his now-empty plate and rose. Chicha nodded in agreement.

"We might not seem like much, but I think you know what us smelly, stupid peasants can be capable of." Pacha winked.

* * *

"Well, gotta get going. Gotta pack up to head to the palace and stuff."

The orangey-purple sunset had long since melted into a black sky when Kuzco took leave.

"Bye Kuzco! Thanks for Puma!" Tipo yelled.

"Um, we never agreed we'd name it Puma. It's a chinchilla. But yeah, it was fun to have you around, Kuzco," Chaca said. "And by the way," she added, smirking, "you're pretty cool for someone who sleeps with a doll."

"I—" Kuzco's words stuck to the inside of his throat. He tried again. "Wha—"

Chaca and Tipo sniggered.

"How do you know about Wompy?"

"What, you think no one would notice that purple doll on your nightstand? It looks pretty cute, though."

Pacha snorted. "What now? How come you never told me this?"

Kuzco pulled a Chaca and Tipo, sticking his tongue out at the old man. "Take a guess."

"Well, I just hope you know you're never going to hear the end of this one."

"Oh, I know that plenty well, Captain Obvious," he said. "Well, seeya."

"Bye!" the family shouted in unison, waving all the way until Kuzco reached the bottom of the hill.

He had had eighteen years of living in a shiny illusion, then everything was turned upside—down in less than a week. Pacha had definitely thrown off his groove, big time.

But as the boy looked back at that strangely wonderful little house nesting on that large hill, he supposed he could forgive Pacha for that.

* * *

 _Oh, boy, was that fun. I figured Chicha would be a bit of a Mama Jaguar before opening up to Kuzco; he did almost take away her family's home, after all. I loved writing her. Like, you could make an entire spin—off series about her. But yeah! There you go. Stay tuned for the next chapter soon! As always, feedback is very much appreciated! :)_


	4. That Makes You Ugly and Stupid

_Hello! I'm back once more. Exams and such may get in the way of a consistent update schedule, but rest assure this will not be abandoned. Fun fact: I wrote the draft for the first two chapters almost two years ago. They were lying around in my drafts until I dusted them off and fleshed them out (because let's face it, my writing skills in 8th grade weren't exactly the best)._

 _Anyways, hope you enjoy! :)_

* * *

"Thanks, Mama Jaguar."

"Stop calling me that."

Kuzco snorted as Chicha handed him another cloth. "But it suits you. Perfect combo of 'don't mess with me' and 'don't mess with my kids.'"

"Hmm," Chicha considered as Kuzco knelt down to scrub the cloth in the basin. "Fair enough, Llama Boy."

The two always did laundry like this, full of witty remarks and nicknames, a few laughs here and there. Kuzco claimed that the only reason he stuck around to do the work whenever he stayed at the village was to get a share of Chicha's famous sweet potato bread as a reward; the crop only grew at the very outskirts of the empire and exporting it to the capital wasn't really a priority. And Kuzco just so happened to never address making it a priority in order to keep brandishing his excuse for staying at the Pacha-Chicha residence. But they all knew he didn't stay there just to eat a slice of bread, no matter how undeniably delicious it was. There was some other reason that made him want to stay.

Perhaps it was how the sun made the dewdrops on the grass sparkle in the soft light of dawn, as he heard the village around him come to life: the clanging of pots and pans as breakfast was being made, the llamas clucking and bleating as their owners herded them to the pastures, the children playfully yelling and romping around while the babies cried for their mothers. Maybe it was the way Chaca and Tipo always pulled him into their antics, making the emperor climb trees and build forts and wonder just how much of a childhood he has missed out on in the grandeur of the palace.

Was it the way he and Chicha exchanged quips and sarcasm? The way he could see laughter lines etched around the corners of her mouth and eyes as she talked and laughed and argued with him, so drastically different from placid, dull-eyed servants who never dared talk back to their god? Was it the way Pacha jovially slapped him on the back whenever he saw him, listening intently as he gossiped about royal affairs ("I swear, the royal seamstress must have either died and been replaced with a clone overnight or gotten a major facelift. The guy looks like, my age now")?

Perhaps it was all of those things put together...to form a single, distinguishable feeling. But that just frustrated him even more. He always _knew_ that feeling was there, but never what to call it.

He stared down at the old washing basin, hues of yellow and green and blue and pink dancing around in the suds just like Chaca had told him they did months ago. Except this time, a bit of red blossomed in the center of the flowers of wet cloth.

Chicha had given Kuzco a strange look when he placed those pricey, woollen robes in the basin.

"You sure you wanna do that?" she asked, tilting an eyebrow upwards. "The dye from all the other clothes will get into yours."

Kuzco frowned. "Well, then, why do you guys do it?"

"Well, we don't mind."

"Well, then, I don't mind either," Kuzco stated adamantly.

And so he stood there, watching all of the colors bleed, almost fusing with one another in the water. His robes were now tainted with peasant. But it gave him a strange, unexplainable sense of satisfaction.

Gods, he wished he could just be able to explain that feeling for once.

The two headed inside after setting the clothes out to dry behind the house.

 _House..._

They treaded through the living room, Kuzco headed straight towards the kitchen for a slice of sweet potato bread, now cooled and ready to be attacked by hungry children and emperors alike. He headed to the second drawer on the left of the kitchen counter for a knife. After visiting this place a few times, he came to know it like the back of his hand. It felt like...

 _...Home._

 _House. Home. Oh, no. Nonononononono._ Kuzco nearly dropped the knife as he realized what that strange feeling that constantly gnawed at him was. Up here, up on this strange, little hilltop at the outskirts of his empire...

...He felt at home. Stupid peasants. He shouldn't be feeling this way. The palace was his home. The palace was his rightful home, the place he was promised ever since birth. If he threw that away, what would he have left? This stupid feeling and this strange desire to be something he would never be.

Oh, Gods. How had he been falling for this act this whole time? They reeled him in with their jokes, laughter, advice, and friendliness. But now it had tainted him. Once he had gotten a taste of it, he wanted more. But he'd only ever get it halfway, never on the level he wanted it. Family and Kuzco were never meant to belong in the same sentence.

He set the knife down on the table. He had lost his appetite. He never wanted to step foot in this house again. It was filled with things he could never have.

"Kuzco?"

He looked up. Chicha was there, leaning on the kitchen entryway like she always did.

Kuzco grit his teeth. _Like she always did_. He had noticed it and thought it was important enough to file away in his brain. But why was she so important? _Peasant._ Just a measly peasant. They were all peasants. They didn't matter, didn't matter shouldn't matter never mattered.

"—bread yet?"

Kuzco realized he had accidentally tuned Chicha out. He glared down at his sandals. "What?" he asked softly, unable to trust himself to say anything more. Old Kuzco was fighting to come back to the surface, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

"I asked if you'd gotten some bread yet..." Kuzco could almost feel her eyes narrow as she trailed off. "What's up with you?"

"Oh, nothing. Doing just dandy. Just remembered I have an errand back at the palace I forgot about though. Seeya." He almost ran to the front door, anxious to leave all this behind and lock up his strange feelings in this house he'd never come back to again.

"Hold it, mister." Chicha's authoritative tone made Kuzco's spine stiffen. "You're not going anywhere. Something's up."

"And I don't want you to care about it!" Kuzco spun around, jabbing a finger in Chicha's direction. "You think you can just pull me into your little peasant game and act like I'm one of you when I'm not! Seriously? Helping you cook? Sweeping the house? Doing laundry? What is this, my house? No! I don't even tie my own sandals back at the palace! Someone else does it for me! What are you trying to do, _convert_ me? I'm done falling for your mind tricks!"

A shocked silence filled the air as Kuzco panted after his tirade, a hand planted on his forehead, sweaty and glistening from the work he did outside.

"Sorry," he breathed finally. There it was again, that foreign word snaking its way out of his mouth in a low hiss. He turned back to face the door, not daring to look Chicha in the eye. "What you're doing is nice, but it's not gonna work. I'm leaving."

He pushed open the wooden door to walk out, only to find himself face to face with a large man in a green poncho, arms crossed and wearing an unreadable expression on his face.

"Kuzco," Pacha ordered. "Back of the house. Now."

"Look. I don't know what came over me, okay? But it's not gonna happen again 'cause I'm never coming back here. Just leave me alone."

"No," Pacha said, crossing his arms. "Being alone is the last thing you need right now. You always seem so happy visiting us. Don't you like it here?"

"Ugh, I do!" Kuzco turned away from him, violently tearing out blades of grass from the ground. "That's _why_ I'm not coming back."

"What? That doesn't even make any sense!"

Kuzco gave a sharp laugh. "Well, that makes you ugly and stupid! You just don't understand!"

"Well, how can I understand it if all you do is keep acting up and pushing everyone away?!"

Kuzco's mouth clamped shut. As usual, Pacha was right. And he. _Hated it._ The two sat in a tense silence until Pacha finally broke it.

"Kuzco, what was it like at the palace?"

The young man stared at him. "What do you mean? You've been inside there before, haven't you? It's huge and fancy. And I live there. That's all you need to know."

"No. I mean...growing up there."

"Oh. Well, every day was just like the other. Singing, dancing, bossing people around. There's a method to the madness."

"Huh." Pacha raised an eyebrow. "Even before you took the throne?"

"What the—what do you care about that?" Kuzco asked, suddenly wary. He wasn't going to dive into this again. He had been doing well at forgetting it all before these peasants barged into his life.

"Well, emperor or not, you must've come from somewhere, right? From someone?"

Kuzco stopped attacking the grass, his hands suddenly still. He placed them in his lap. "You talking about my parents?"

"Well...yeah."

"Then forget it," Kuzco snapped, getting up. "I'm out of here."

"Oh, no you're not!" Pacha yanked the boy back to the ground where he fell facefirst with a yelp.

"Uh—sorry," Pacha said sheepishly as Kuzco cursed and wiped the dirt from his face. "But look, I'm trying to help you. And besides, I saved your life. Multiple times. You gotta owe me one sometime or another."

Kuzco gave a dramatic sigh, blowing black tendrils of hair out of his face. "Fiiine. If I tell you, will you just shut up and mind your own business for the rest of the time I'm at the village?"

"Deal. Anything else you want, your Highness?"

"Hmm." Kuzco considered this. "A loaf of bread to take back to the palace."

Pacha laughed. "Alright. But only if you talk. Now spill."

"Um...okay. Mom was Empress Suti. Dad was Emperor Urqu. But I guess you already knew that." He shrugged. "Look, if you want me to tell you stuff about them, there's not really much to say. They barely talked to me. He spent all his time locked up in the royal meeting chamber talking about war tactics. She spent all her time balancing the imperial budget. The empire was their child. Not me. So there I was, stuck with the worst babysitter imaginable."

Pacha grimaced. "Yzma."

"Yep. Except..." Kuzco sighed. "I didn't think she was all that bad," he said quietly.

"Huh, really..."

"Mhm. I mean, she talked to me. She told me the world was mine. Pointed out how the rulers never paid attention to their own son and said, 'See? You can't trust anyone. The only one you have in this world is yourself.'" He gently traced the patches of bare dirt from which he'd uprooted bunches of grass.

"It's all about me," he whispered.

Except it wasn't. Not exactly. It was about his reflection. Not Kuzco himself. It was about how others saw him and how they acted accordingly. But the water was ugly and murky, the mirrors all shattered. He had no idea what his reflection looked like.

"Anyways," Kuzco continued, "I think I was around eight when Dad went on a sailing trip. Some sort of diplomatic sesh with a nearby kingdom to prevent invasion."

"And what happened?" Pacha asked.

"They say he got speared right through the chest as he made his way to negotiate with them. But whatever it was, he didn't make it back. That's the important part. Mom had to take the wheel from there. Well, technically, it was supposed to be me. But I had no idea how to run an empire—probably still don't, either. But yeah. No way was she gonna let some kid touch her precious child." He gritted his teeth. "So she took over entirely. Like I mean, _entirely_. She wouldn't let anyone advise her. She fired nearly all of the royal council. She locked herself up in her room sketching forts and warships. Guess she was paranoid of an invasion after what happened. Eventually, the stress got to her really bad. Silver hair, scary-dark eyebags. She just kept withering away, 'til one day...she was nothing at all. She got so stressed and sick that she just couldn't take it anymore. And then—this guy made it to the throne," he said, pointing at himself. "No bittersweet memories or mushy feelings if that's what you were expecting, thank you very much."

"Hmm. So you don't miss them. At all."

Kuzco crossed his arms. "Nope. Not one bit."

"Honest?"

"Ugh, yes. Honest. So..." he continued to trace the bald patches of dirt on the ground. "Why do I still feel like I'm missing...something?"

"Well, 'cause you miss them," Pacha said, matter-of-factly.

"Pacha! I just said I don't! Were you even listening to me?" _Gods_ , this man was impossible.

"Now, I'm not you, but it sounds like...you miss the idea of them. The idea of a family. Like after your chance to have one was taken away from you..."

"...I felt like I'd never be able to have one again," Kuzco finished. "And...I convinced myself that the only person I ever needed in my life was me."

"But, hey." Pacha got up, motioning for Kuzco to do the same. He gave Kuzco that warm smile of his, the kind that reached his eyes and made Kuzco feel even stranger than before, but in a good way.

"Guess even gods can be wrong."

And he pulled the young boy into a hug. A bear hug. The same hug he saw Pacha give Chaca and Tipo not too long ago. And it was enough to make the emperor truly spill.

Oh, sweet Inti, it was _embarrassing._ Hot tears fell down Kuzco's face as he held onto that green poncho, almost digging his nails into it. Solid. Reassuring. There. Three characteristics he'd only ever had in objects, like his Wompy or the golden throne. But to have it in a person...it sure was something else. A strange feeling. But rather than shoving it aside, he was beginning to accept it.

"Gods, I'm such a baby," he said, laughing as he wiped his face after pulling away from Pacha.

"Oh, no you're not."

"Oh, really? And when was the last time you cried?"

"That one time Chicha tried making roast beetles for dinner."

"I heard that," Chicha said as she made her way outside, little Yupi nesting happily in a baby sling around her back. Pacha grinned sheepishly. "And for your information," she said, "beetles are full of protein and rich in nutrients."

"Well! As delicious as that sounds, I'll stick to that bread," Kuzco said.

"Don't you know the rules of this house, young man? Dinner before dessert."

"But—!"

"No buts." At that moment, a small blob of grey sped out of the house's back entrance, followed by two kids, panting from exhaustion.

"Silvie!"

"Puma!"

Chaca and Tipo eventually forgot about the chinchilla they were pursuing, who was now napping comfortably in Kuzco's lap.

Chicha put a hand to her forehead. "Ugh, Kuzco, why did you have to get that thing out from underneath their bed? They've been arguing over what to name it for _months."_

Kuzco grinned. "Well, if they really can't decide, we might as well just name this handsome devil Kuzco Junior."

"Wait—no!" Chaca and Tipo hastily stopped arguing and ran over to Kuzco. "Anything but that!" Chaca pleaded.

"Hmm...how about Bean?" Pacha offered.

Kuzco stared at him. "Really?"

"Well, yeah—if you want, that is."

"Hmm. Yeah, guess we could name it Bean," Kuzco said nonchalantly. "You're gonna regret not naming it Kuzco Junior, though, just saying."

Pacha laughed. "Right."

"Yeah, I swear, you're gonna..." Kuzco trailed off as he eyed the robes drying on the wooden stick a few feet away from him.

"What is it, Kuzco?"

"Er, nothing, I just..." he trailed off again, making his way to the bar.

"My robe," Kuzco said finally. "It's...kinda greenish. And a little yellow some places too."

Chicha sighed. "I'm sorry, Kuzco...I told you the other colors would bleed into it if you washed it with them."

"Hey." Kuzco turned around to face Chicha. "I never said it was a bad thing." He held the royal robes up in the light of the now-setting sun, inspecting the multicolored blotches that had blossomed on it from its time in the basin. It looked drastically different from the flashy, spotless red he had worn his entire life. It even smelled different after being in the basin, like fresh mint with a trace of...was that llama? He knew that smell all too well. The robe had a soft texture, as was expected, but slightly fluffier than usual, small bits of yarn frayed and branching out into small, fuzzy red tendrils. And he couldn't wait to wear it at the palace. It would be a reminder of the busy mornings and the noisy llamas, of Chaca and Tipo's boundless energy (as well as the little furball's) and of Chicha's smile and that trademark Mama Jaguar sass that almost outrivaled his (almost).

And it would remind him of Pacha, that crazy old man who swung on a vine through a bunch of killer jaguars, fell down a waterfall, punched the emperor right in the face, dressed him up like a peasant lady, ran around with him on the palace roof...and saved Kuzco's life.

Every stain on that robe was a reminder. Even at the distant palace with its aloof servants and obliging silence, in the heart of the capital, far from the outskirts of the empire, he would be reminded of...

 _Home._

* * *

 _Some heartwarming stuff because I'm a sucker for that; sometimes cheesy stuff is nice, but hopefully I didn't make it too gooey! Also, woah! I'm like, halfway through finishing this fic. I'll be back with some more stuff soon enough. :) In the meantime, I'd like to thank you guys for the support, it means a lot!_


	5. Out of the Loop

"Kuuuuzcoooo!"

The emperor braced himself as two small missiles launched themselves at him, latching onto the arms he had extended outwards to greet them with a hug. Instead, Chaca and Tipo seemed to be content with hanging from Kuzco's arms.

Kuzco chuckled. "Miss me much?"

Tipo hopped down. "Yeah! What did you get for us?"

"Ohhh, I see. You're playing it nice so you can grab the goods and leave." Kuzco tapped his head. "Smart thinking."

"What? Nonono—" Chaca hopped down as well. "—we missed you!"

Kuzco turned his head away melodramatically. "Likely story."

"No!" Tipo protested as well. "We did, you always have funny stories and cool dance moves and—hey! Yupi, get out of the way, I'm trying to have a _conversation!"_

"Wait, what?" Kuzco whipped his head back around; sure enough, Yupi was tottering between Kuzco and Tipo, small curls of black hair bouncing up and down on his head as he did so. He almost tripped over his chubby legs and quickly grabbed hold of Kuzco's robes for support before he did so.

"...Huh. Well, that's new." Kuzco picked up Yupi. "So, how long has _this_ been a thing?" Yupi began kicking his legs in the air excitedly, ready to be put down to show off his new skill once more.

Chaca shrugged. "A month, maybe?"

"A month," Kuzco repeated, incredulous. He narrowed his eyes. "What else did I miss?"

"Hmm..." Chaca furrowed her brows as she thought back to what else had happened. "I lost another tooth! It's near the back here, see?" Chaca opened up her mouth and twisted her tongue so it pointed towards the gap in her mouth.

Kuzco laughed. "You don't even need to tell me that. It's like you lose a tooth every time I see you."

"I grew an inch!" Tipo interjected.

Kuzco blinked. "An inch in a month?"

Tipo shrugged. "Isn't that normal?"

"Uh...no."

"Guess I'm just special, then." He beamed, revealing a sizeable gap in the middle of his bottom row of teeth.

"Woah, get out. You too?" Kuzco muttered as Tipo stuck his tongue through the place where two of his baby teeth once were.

"Kuzco!" Chicha walked out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel she was holding. "Great to see you."

"Yeah, you too..." Kuzco frowned. "You know where Pacha's at?"

"Near the back tending to Misty. I can deliver a message to him if you want."

"Nah, it's more of a one-on-one kind of thing."

"Huh. Alright. Make it quick, though. We got a fresh load of laundry to take care of in the back."

Kuzco peered into the kitchen, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Is there a fresh loaf in the oven to take care of, too?"

Chicha chuckled. "Not today. I'm making something a little more...special."

Kuzco narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Ooookay." He decided not to question her. He had more important things to do. Like having a little chat with his peasant friend. "I just hope it's beetle-free!" he called back to Chicha as he ran outside of the house.

* * *

When Kuzco saw Pacha, he promptly punched him in the arm.

"Ow! What the..." he turned around, frowning as his eyes met Kuzco's. "Well, that's one way to make an entrance."

Kuzco simply glared back at Pacha, arms crossed in silence.

"So, uh..." Pacha cleared his throat as he offered a bowl of water in his hand to Misty, holding it up to the llama's mouth. "what's up?"

"Pach, buddy, I'm gonna kill you."

"And why is that?"

"Oh, take a guess. I walk into the house and Chaca and Tipo jump up and start swinging around my arms like a bunch of little monkeys, right? Nothing new. But then Yupi runs up to me and starts to climb my leg too? I just— _ugh."_ Kuzco kicked at the dirt in frustration.

Pacha placed the now empty bowl on the ground and raised his hands in defense. "Hey, I can't help you with that. The kids just seem to gravitate towards you, Kuzco. Even the ones who have no idea what you're saying." He chuckled.

"No, no. That's not what I meant, I mean—Yupi's walking? Tipo's losing teeth now? He even told me he grew a whole inch while I was gone!"

Pacha grinned. "He's lying about that, you know. He keeps counting his hair as part of his height."

"Oh. Heh." Kuzco almost smiled but caught himself, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter, Mister 'Oh-Nothing-Much-Going-On-In-The-Old-Village.' You seriously think you can get away with lying to me whenever you visit me at the palace?"

"The kids are just growing up! That's a normal thing, Kuzco."

"For you, maybe!"

Pacha raised an eyebrow. "Well, what did you do in the last month?"

Kuzco shrugged. "Eh. Went over some last-minute formalities about a new school before opening it, settled a major land dispute between two peasant families, kissed a few babies. Nothing special."

"I don't know, those sound like pretty important things to me."

"I could care less about them, honestly."

Pacha grinned. "Are you saying you care about us more?"

"What? I, uh—" Kuzco cleared his throat, spine stiff and shoulders tensed. "I don't know what you're talking about, I uh..." he cleared his throat again, almost as if he were trying to cough the words out.

"I thought you already knew that," he said finally, quietly.

"Oh, I do know. Just wanted to hear you say it out loud for once."

"Wooow. Not cool." Kuzco glared at Pacha, whose crinkled smile took up most of his weathered face; he stared back at the ground, which still sported a few black patches of dirt from the fit he had thrown months ago, when he had claimed that he would never come back to this stupid hilltop ever again. But here he was once more, paying monthly visits to Pacha and Co. But it seemed like even once a month wasn't enough.

"Just...keep me posted, okay? You're lucky I didn't trip over Yupi today. He's getting pretty tall."

Pacha laughed. "You're telling me. He almost grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter the other day. Chicha nearly had a heart attack."

Kuzco crossed his arms. "Oh, like you didn't?"

Pacha shrugged. "Fair enough. So...you bring anything for the kids?"

"You too?"Kuzco rolled his eyes. "Of course I did."

Pacha pointed to Chaca, Tipo, and Yupi, who were running out of the house towards Kuzco, giggling with their arms outstretched. "Better give those to them, then. Looks like they're about to attack you again."

* * *

Chaca waltzed around the house in circles, attempting to teach herself how to play the flute Kuzco had given her, and Tipo was delighted with his colored pencils—until Chicha said he wasn't allowed to use the walls as his canvas. Yupi sat on the couch next to Pacha, violently shaking the ball in his hands and cooing at the rattling noise it made. Bean made sure to steer clear from Yupi's hands, preferring to scurry around on the edge of one of the couch's arms.

"Well!" Kuzco said, patting his nonexistent pockets, "Looks like the gift well is all dry. Come back again some other time!"

"Hold up!" Chicha strode into the living room, wearing faded blue oven mitts and carrying a steaming plate of something that looked remarkably unlike sweet potato bread. The smell seemed strangely familiar, though.

Kuzco eyed the plate. "What's this? Dinner before dessert?"

"Just a little something special for today," Chicha replied, setting the plate and a knife down on the table.

"...Chocolate?" Kuzco asked, confused. "Thought that stuff wasn't common on the countryside."

"Well, just because it's a delicacy doesn't mean we never have it," said Chicha. The kids crowded around to look at the cake.

"Soooo...what's the special occasion? I thought Chaca turned eleven last month."

"That she did," Pacha said, the weight on the couch shifting slightly as he turned a bit to face Kuzco. "This one's for me."

Kuzco gaped at him. "Get out."

"No, really. I think I'm...oh, what? Forty-one? Forty-two? Aging doesn't exactly help improve your memory."

"Don't. Even. Talk. To me."

"What's his problem?" Chaca asked her mother. Chicha simply crossed her arms in response, raising an eyebrow as she stared at the emperor.

Pacha sighed. "Kuzco, I'm sorry..."

"You better be. Look at me!" He spread his arms out. "Coming here empty-handed. It's like you want to humiliate me."

"I didn't want anything from you."

Kuzco jerked his head up to glare at Pacha, a bit stung. "Really," he said coldly.

"Really! I mean—" he slung his arm over Kuzco's shoulder and used his other one to gesture to the kids and Chicha. "—look around. I'm surrounded by a loving family. What more could I ever want?"

Kuzco snorted, pointing to a tear in Pacha's clothes. "Maybe a nicer poncho?"

"Kuzco!"

"You're wasting your time trying to pull off this whole fuzzy-feely tactic on me, old man. Expect a wagonload of stuff the next time I see you." He jabbed a finger in Pacha's chest. "You hear that? Wagonload."

"I hear you."

"Good. And don't you ever keep me out of the loop again, capisce?"

Pacha chuckled. "Alright, alright. You drive a hard bargain, your Highness."

"Hey, just doing what I do. So!" Kuzco clapped his hands. "Anyone ready to break the rules? Here's to dinner before dessert." He grabbed the knife.

Reverse dinner was going quite well until Chaca spit her cake back out onto her plate. Kuzco was going to have a hard time unseeing that.

"I think I lost another tooth," she announced, digging through her chewed-up slice until she found a hard, white canine.

"What? That's crazy!" Kuzco exclaimed. "How many teeth do you even have in your mouth now, kid? Three? Two?"

"Actually, if my calculations are correct, twenty-one."

Kuzco blinked. "Wow. Maybe I should get you a pair of dentures the next time I visit."

Chaca shoved him. "Oh, shut up," she grumbled.

Kuzco and Pacha both laughed as Chaca scooped up Bean from the couch and marched off.

"You know," Kuzco said, in between forkfuls of cake, "this isn't too bad. You should spend more birthdays with me."

Pacha smiled. "Will do. Well, for however many birthdays I have left, anyways."

Kuzco's smile faded instantly. He set his plate down, stony-faced. "Don't say that," he snapped.

"Woah, hey. I didn't mean it that way."

"Doesn't matter. Just don't ever say that again." Kuzco started fiddling with a loose thread on the couch.

"Kuzco...it's gonna happen to all of us someday. And when it does—"

Kuzco snorted. "What, are you too afraid to say _die?_ I know you're going to _die_ someday, okay? I'm not that stupid."

"Never said you were."

Kuzco didn't answer. He squeezed his eyes shut and and inhaled sharply. All this time, he had only ever thought of gaining friends. Gods, he was so stupid to not realize that he could lose them just as quickly. Mortality was a curse even the emperor couldn't escape. It made him slightly more than irritated.

"Do you know who built this house?"

The emperor's eyes snapped open upon hearing Pacha's voice. He groaned. "You're doing that thing again."

Pacha frowned. "What thing?"

"That thing where you ask some random question that makes no sense and then connect it to some sort of heartwarming advice that's supposed to make me feel all gooey sentimental inside. So, what's your moral of the day, Daddy Pach?"

"Take it easy," Pacha replied. "And try not to rip up the couch."

"Oh, come on. You were about to say something deeper than that."

"So you wanna hear it?"

Kuzco shrugged, sinking back into the couch. "I'll humor you."

Pacha rolled his eyes. "I'm deeply honored, your Highness. Anyways, this house was built by my great-great-great-great grandfather and grandmother. It's stood up on this village for almost two hundred years."

"Huh. That's pretty long. Impressive."

"Yep. Needless to say, they're not around anymore— well, their bodies aren't, anyways. But I can still feel them. They're here. They're watching over us. They founded this village and they're helping it grow. You can see them if you look up outside at night."

"The...stars?" Kuzco asked, perplexed.

"Yep. Never believed in that kind of stuff at first, but when I looked up at the stars the night my grandmother died, I saw a new one, right next to the spot my great-grandparents were supposed to be. They're all there, staring down at this village. We're never alone."

"Wow." Kuzco considered this. "That's...kinda creepy, actually."

Pacha groaned.

"Heh! Just kidding. So, Pacha...when you turn into a star, where are you gonna be?"

He shrugged. "Don't know yet."

"Gee, real helpful. Thanks."

"Kuzco, I don't even know when it'll happen. And I don't think anyone ever knows where they'll be. It just sort of...happens. You know where you belong up there, and it just becomes your spot. You don't pick and choose."

"Huh." Kuzco looked out through the window. A cool, gentle breeze wafted in, making the ends of his hair tickle his neck.

Would Kuzco's star be above the palace? It seemed to be the most logical place, shining right above his throne, large and bright. A beacon of light in the night sky, right in the heart of the empire.

But he knew Pacha's would be up here on this hilltop. The old man had gone through ridiculous lengths to keep this small house here, among the noisy llamas and bountiful vegetable fields. And Kuzco was beginning to understand why.

He sighed. "Just promise you'll tell me before you head up there, alright?"

Pacha set his cake down on the table and looked out the window, smiling. "Oh, don't worry. I will."

"Good," Kuzco said. "'Cause that's an order from your emperor." He picked up his slice of cake and clinked the edge of his plate with the one Pacha was holding. "Cheers, Grandpa."

* * *

 _Whoo, almost done! I have one more chapter in mind and an epilogue, although I'm considering making them both just one chapter because I don't think the epilogue will be too long. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'm actually going to go watch this movie again for the first time since last year. Never gets old. Also, I'm a sucker for stargazing scenes. I just love the atmosphere of them._

 _Once more, thank you so much for reading! :)_


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